


Good Evening, Clara

by TsarBomba



Category: Doctor Who (2005), The Silence of the Lambs (1991)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Vague weird femslash, i don't know why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 04:20:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5115551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsarBomba/pseuds/TsarBomba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missy leaned forward against the bars of her cell, long fingers wrapped around them as she pushed her face closer to Clara's. They were maybe standing a foot apart now. "A surveyor once tried to test me. I roasted his heart and ate it with berries and followed it all with a cup of tea."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Evening, Clara

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what happened. Was just watching Silence of the Lambs and later remembered that the Master has actually eaten human flesh before and this is what came up because my mind works in stupid ways. I claim no originality. This is Thomas Harris's story, all I did was swap characters around for my own amusement/self-interest and tweak some parts here and there, made a few vague references, made up some stuff entirely to try and make it work. Wrote this entirely for myself for fun and decided to post it cause maybe there's five other people out there that this thing might appeal to. If there's enough interest I'll add on more scenes. That's all! Thanks for reading!
> 
> Also in case it wasn't obvious:  
> Clara - Clarice Starling  
> Missy - Dr. Lecter  
> Kate Stewart - Jack Crawford  
> The Doctor - Dr. Will Graham (mentioned)

Clara Oswald, agent-in-training, had been sitting in silence for a good while now, with no answer as to why she was there, while Chief Kate Stewart scanned her file with tired looking eyes. The office was messy, littered with stacks of journals and orders and stacked boxes of files. There was a smaller, unoccupied desk in the back corner of the office, where Stewart's assistant used to sit. Nothing had been moved from it, all the papers and notes lay where she had left them. Clara looked away quickly.

"Double majors in criminology and psychology," Stewart recited, her finger drawing along the line where she read. "Two years counseling at the Coal Hill Mental Health Care Institute. Very good. What are you doing at MI5?"

She said all of this without ever looking at Clara's face. This was a question she'd been asked often but never by people she worked with or for. She formulated what she thought was a good answer in her head. "I think I have some modicum of talent in my field. I wanted to put it to good use."

It didn't really matter what her answer was, Stewart didn't seem to care and she didn't look up from the file. She turned some more pages over. Credentials, education, her interview transcript. Clara resisted the urge to pick at her thumbnail. 

"You've done well here. Top of your class. You requested Behavioral Science directly when you applied. You regretting that decision yet?"

Clara shook her head, smiling a little. "Not at all, ma'am."

"We're off to a bit of a rough start. If we can't get this guy they'll shut down the department. Already have the local enforcement breathing down our necks, asking why we're doing their job." Stewart rubbed a sweaty palm across the back of her neck and shut her eyes for a moment. When she opened them she finally looked at Clara. "Apologies, Oswald. I'm sure you're wondering why I asked you to come see me."

"Yes, ma'am."

Stewart gave her a meaningless, empty little smile. "Relax. You aren't in trouble. Didn't mean for my summons to worry you so much."

"Ma'am, is this about the Frankenstein Killer?" Clara asked in a low voice. 

Stewart gave her a look and Clara shrunk just slightly into her chair. "I really do hate that nickname. But no, not directly."

Stewart rummaged through her desk, there were half-empty coffee cups and folders everywhere, eventually pulling out a thick sheaf of paper, half blue and half pink. It was held together by flimsy binding, no staples or clips. This seemed intentional. Stewart sat there a moment and ran her eyes clinically over Clara, concluding her scan with a nod. "You may do nicely with this. I have a job for you, Oswald. More like an interesting errand, I suppose. Have you heard of VI-CAP?"

"Violent Criminal Apprehension Program," Clara said, glad she knew that one, and Stewart nodded. 

"We've developed a questionnaire. It applies to all known serial murderers from the last 75 years. We're administering it to everyone we've apprehended. Or trying to."

She handed the booklet over. Clara flipped through a couple of pages. "Blues are questions that the subject answers themselves," Stewart said. "Pinks are asked by the interviewer, and then the reaction is gauged as well as the answer. This is a tedious little job. Lots of paperwork."

Clara let the weight of the thing settle in her lap. Paperwork. Nothing glamourous at all, but it was a foot in the door for a trainee like her, she supposed. Stewart was staring at her, as if in judgment. "You get scared easily, Oswald?"

"When I should be," Clara said, and Stewart let out a short, humorless little laugh. "That's good. That's smart. All in all, this questionnaire has been successful. Most of the subjects are more than happy to talk. They want to brag about what they've done, or they want to repent. Either way, they usually open right up. Thing is, the one we want to interview most has been very uncooperative. I'm getting a bit desperate here."

"Is that why you picked me?" Clara asked, and Stewart shrugged. "At this point, nothing hurts. You're qualified, you're intelligent, and you've got a set of balls under that puppy-dog look of yours. I'm not expecting you to be successful, but I do want you to try administering the test. If she refuses, then no loss. That's all I'm asking."

Clara felt like Stewart was trying to soften her up for a hard blow. "Who is the subject?" Clara asked, surprised by the _she_ and Stewart twisted her lips disapprovingly as if this wasn't a question she wanted to answer. 

"Dr. Missy Koschei."

A silence settled over them, as it usually did when the name was mentioned in civilized company. "Missy Koschei," Clara said to herself. "The cannibal."

Stewart nodded carefully as if she were afraid of scaring her off. "Yes, that one."

"Well, I, okay," Clara said, her blood thrumming in her fingertips. She swallowed. Stewart smiled. "Most psych students would kill for this interview, Oswald."

Clara caught herself, catching the implicit undertones of Stewart's observation. "I don't want to appear ungrateful, ma'am. I'm very grateful for the opportunity," she said, not sure if she was lying or not. 

Stewart shifted in her chair. "This is a no-pressure assignment, Oswald. I'm expecting Koschei to refuse you. There will be no penalty if she does. The last time though, she refused through an intermediary, I need to be able to say I sent one of my own. It'll get the higher-ups off my ass for a bit."

"Yes ma'am, I understand," Clara said, fiddling with the booklet. She pushed some hair behind her ear and felt sweat on her forehead. "How should I, how should I approach this?"

"Carefully," Stewart said, "use your manners. Dr. Koschei won't appreciate or respond to heavy-handedness."

"Any hints other than that?"

"She's a cannibalistic serial killer, Oswald, there's no right way to approach this but there are a lot of wrong ways. She might look like a human being but she isn't. She can't be. Treat her like you'd treat a cobra, with respect and with fear. Use your charm. And if she refuses, don't bother with an evaluation of your own. I'm knee-deep in evaluations from fifteen different psychologists and all of them say something different about her. If she won't cooperate, get me basics. What does her cell look like, how is she looking, how is she acting."

Stewart stopped and looked away, shaking her head at herself as if trying to expel an unpleasant memory. "It's ridiculous. She's a true freak. She's an anomaly, and she still publishes in psychiatric journals but never about her own oddities. Once she went along with the head director at the institute, did some tests with a blood pressure cuff and heart rate monitor while he showed her photos of wrecks, war photos, things like that, and then she turned around and published all the interesting and embarrassing things she'd learned about him during their time together before he could do it to her. Made him look like a fool. I'm sure she was proud of that one. Point is, Oswald, don't try to be sneaky with her and don't make any assumptions. It won't work and she'll turn it against you."

"So be honest then?"

"I'm getting to that. Now, Oswald. Listen to me. Are you listening?" Stewart asked her, her palms laid across her messy desk, eyes piercing through the darkness around them. She hadn't been sleeping well. No one in the department really had been. 

"I'm listening," Clara said, because she was. 

"This is important. Be incredibly careful with Missy Koschei. Can't stress it enough. Either the director or one of the head orderlies will describe the protocols you are to follow for the interview, and you are to follow them to the letter. Don't tell her anything she doesn't need to know. No specifics about yourself. If she asks it is because she's trying to get something from you. It's the kind of curiosity that makes a shark go sniffing after blood. Just because she's in a cage doesn't make her harmless. You don't want anything about you sitting around in her head. You remember what happened to Dr. Dodeci?"

Clara nodded. Everyone knew something about that, but the specifics of what drove him into self-imposed exile were only known by him, Kate Stewart, and Dr. Koschei. 

"Dr. Dodeci got a little careless and a little too curious and nearly lost his life. He nearly lost his mind. He was still luckier than Osgood," she said, her gaze flicking briefly to the empty desk. She cleared her throat. "He got Koschei's interest, and as it turns out having her interest is similar to having the attention of a tracking missile. You don't want that. Don't give her a reason to be curious about you. Get in, do the job, get out. And don't forget what she is."

"And what is that, ma'am?"

Stewart gave her a weak, dead little shrug. "Don't know. No one does. All the more reason to be careful." She dismissed her with a nod to the door. "Get to work, Oswald."

__________________________________

The director of the Fortress Island Hospital for the Criminally Insane, an unpleasant man unremarkable save for his position, led her through winding institution-green halls that smelled of Lysol and piss and which echoed with moans and screams and ceaseless, mad laughter. Here though the floor plan was rather open, patients could mingle and, depending on behavior, could leave their cells for a time and even go outside into the murky courtyard where armed security officers paced the high walls. The further in they went though, the fewer of these liberties remained, and the further in they went, the more gated checkpoints they passed in increasingly frequent intervals. Even the lights were shielded by iron grids.

"Was that _Miss_ Oswalt?" the Director asked her as they walked, giving her a lecherous smile. She gave him a practiced, blank look in return. He made her feel more nervous than the patients did. "Agent Oswald, Director. I understood that you were going to brief me?"

"Yes, yes," he said, impatiently, as if the subject alone tired him. Another metal gate guarded by an orderly outfitted with a taser clanged closed behind them. Grubby hands reached at her through the bars, men hissing and hooting like apes. 

"Why keep her housed with male inmates?" she asked. 

"Evil knows no gender, Miss Oswalt. And to be frank, our women's facilities simply aren't secure enough. Not that it really matters. She can't see or be seen by anyone from where her cell is. Doesn't seem to bother her much. No one here seems to be worth her time. No doubt that your boss picked you on purpose though," he said, giving her a pointed look. "Even murderers appreciate a change in scenery, especially when the scene is a pretty one."

Ignoring the last comment, she detected a biting sort of anger in his tone and smothered down a satisfied smirk. "You sound a little frustrated, Director."

"Dr. Koschei can be an incredible nuisance. It takes an orderly ten minutes each day just to remove the staples from her mail, and volume of her mail is enormous. She's subscribed to nearly every publication and journal out there. I believe she does it on purpose to make things difficult for us. Even just to take her from her cell requires three armed guards. The manpower alone we expend for one inmate is ludicrous, but I thought she would be worth it. We tried very hard to study Koschei, to no real avail. A shame, it's so rare to get one like her."

"Like her?" Clara asked.

"A pure psychopath," he responded quietly, talking about her like one would a prize animal. "But she's impenetrable. The usual tests just don't work on her. And she hates us dearly. Me, in particular. I believe she thinks of me as her nemesis."

Clara couldn't help but think that Koschei likely didn't think of the Director much at all but didn't say so. They continued down the hallways until he finally stopped them behind one last gate. This seemed to be the end of the line. They stood there for a moment, staring down at the end, like they were peering into the mouth of an animal's den. It seemed dimmer down there though the lighting was the same. Clara flinched when the gate slammed closed behind them. 

"There are a few rules, Miss Oswalt," the Director said, still looking down the hall and not at her. "Do not touch the bars. Do not approach the bars. Do not hand her anything through the bars. Only soft paper. No pens or pencils. She has a felt tip marker in there she can use for your test if she agrees to it. Only use the sliding door to hand things back and forth. Never through the bars. She will grab you and she will take something from you if you try. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Director."

"For several months after she got here she was a model citizen. Always yes sir, no sir, polite as can be. One day we were careless and left her alone with a nurse for her bi-annual checkup. She was restrained but we had the mouthguard off. The nurse bent over her to put on a blood pressure cuff and Koschei leaned forward and took her tongue and left her blind in one eye, calmly as can be. Thanked her for being yummy afterward. Why I don't trust her is the same reason I don't keep pets, animals will always be animals. No amount of training will tame out the savagery. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Director."

He gestured limply with his hand, as if what resided at the end of the hall exhausted him by proximity. "Last cell on the left. Ask one of the attendants to walk you back when you're done."

He left her then, standing meekly in the corridor. She felt leering eyes on her. She took a huge, shaky breath and turned, looking down the hall. She took quick steps, past creatures who howled at her, grabbed at her, ignoring one man who hopped back and forth on his feet like an ape, smeared by feces and muttering obscenities. The entire hall smelled stale and of urine and she breathed through her mouth. Without the Director prattling away in her ear she became aware of how loud her heels were on the linoleum and how she would be heard long before she was seen. She felt her heart bounding in her chest. She swallowed a lump in her throat and approached Dr. Koschei's cage. 

Clara saw a desk bolted to the ground, laden with neat stacks of journals and magazines. There was writing and sketch paper on the desk, a marker resting on the top page. There was something written there but Clara couldn't make it out. There was a plastic cup half-full with pale tea. Along the walls were ink sketches, some of architecture and places far from here, some portraits of people that Clara didn't recognize. There was a bed in the far corner. 

Dr. Missy Koschei was seated in a plastic chair at the desk, legs crossed, wearing the same starched white uniforms as the rest of the prisoners, though hers was spotless. She was reading the newest edition of Vogue, and she did not look up at Clara as she approached. She stopped about three feet from the bars. 

"Dr. Koschei?" she said, as politely as she could but while trying to mask her nervousness. Her voice sounded alright in her ears. Koschei flicked her eyes up and Clara went cold. They were pale, the color of ice, and looked white and reptilian when the harsh fluorescent lighting reflected off of them. 

"My name is Agent Clara Oswald. May I speak with you?"

Koschei studied her, the very faintest of smiles pricking at her lips. With measured movements, she earmarked her magazine and stood smoothly, on her own time. A black curl loosed itself from the frenzy of them pinned at her head and fell across her cheek, what she pinned them with Clara did not know. She was small, not much taller than Clara, but moved with surprising quickness towards the front of her cage, her movements serpentine and unpredictable, not looking at the bars but past them, as if she chose the distance. 

Even at the sudden proximity, Clara had not flinched. There were mere feet between the two of them. 

"Good morning," Koschei said, as if greeting a guest at the door, her voice cultured and precise and the accent fairly thick. Koschei studied the agent openly, shifting intelligent but feral eyes across Clara's face while her own features remained impassive, and Clara felt her blood buzzing.

"My name is Missy," she said, the pleasant voice oddly childlike.

Clara nearly repeated her own name but stopped herself. "Dr. Koschei, I-"

"Missy," she corrected, still not moving, her expression not changing but the tone just slightly more forceful, as if exerting the smallest modicum of extra effort was enough to get her point across. It was. 

"Missy," Clara repeated, nodding her head. The hairs on her forearms pressed against her sleeves. "Missy, I was going to ask you for some of your time, if you would oblige. We have a problem in psychological profiling."

" _We_ meaning over at MI5. You're part of that new department, I assume. Behavioral psychology. I read about it in the news. What _is_ MI5 doing going after serial killers?"

Missy spoke in a strange cadence and she spoke quickly, not allowing Clara much time to formulate her responses. "Sometimes the local enforcement agencies get a little overwhelmed," Clara said.

"You mean you think you can do the job better than they can. I heard Kate Stewart was heading that department. How is Kate doing? We go way back."

"She's well," Clara said, nodding. 

"May I see your credentials?" Missy asked suddenly, and Clara blanched. She hadn't been expecting this. 

"I showed them at the front..."

"You showed them to the Director. Did you see _his_ credentials? Not much to read there. Please."

It wasn't a request. Clara fished her card out of her purse and held it up. 

"Closer please," Missy sang," I can't quite see it."

Clara looked around. The orderly at the end of the hall was reading a magazine, not watching her. She edged inches closer. Missy gave her a small, closed mouth smile, pleasant enough, but it made Clara's fingers tremble. "Come now. You're out there, I'm in here. What could I possibly do? Step closer. Let me see you."

When Clara took a step forward, now only two feet or so from the bars, she stepped properly into the light and Missy smiled fully, showing brilliant white teeth under dark lips. Her eyes flicked down to the ID card and back up to Clara's eyes momentarily. "Clara Oswin Oswald." Her tongue dragged itself over her name. "A trainee? That's what the card says. Kate Stewart sent a trainee to interview me?"

She didn't sound offended but Clara couldn't be sure. She put her card away. "I am a trainee at MI5, yes, but we aren't discussing MI5, we're discussing psychology. Will you decide for yourself if I'm worth your time?"

Missy's eyes flashed in the light and Clara briefly wondered with a jolt of fear if she had overstepped, but Missy's lips curled. "That's actually rather slippery of you, Agent Oswald. There's a chair leaning up against the wall over there. Why don't you bring it over and have a seat."

Clara looked at the chair and back to Missy. Missy beckoned her with her hand. "Go on now."

Clara obliged, pulling the chair over and setting it some distance away from the bars. The orderly glanced up at her once as if to gauge that the distance was appropriate and then returned to his magazine. She shifted on the chair and crossed her legs, setting her purse on the floor. 

"Wouldn't put it there," Missy said dryly, holding Clara's gaze. "These floors aren't clean."

Clara picked it up and hung it on the back of her chair. Missy was appraising her. "Lovely scarf," she said. "Did you bring your best scarf to this meeting?"

"Thank you, and yes," Clara said. She had brought her best scarf. A favorite that went with her coloring and with this outfit. It somehow seemed as no surprise that Missy would have appreciated it. 

"It's much better than your shoes," Missy said, no malice in her voice but the words stinging. Clara blushed, glancing quickly at the scuffs on the toes and heels. No surprise that she picked up on that as well. "Maybe they'll catch up to my scarf," Clara said, and Missy smirked in response. 

"Koschei isn't a Scottish name," Clara said. "You weren't born there, were you?"

"No, I was not. But I grew up there. My time in the motherland was sparse. But come now, you know all this. Your attempt to _butter me up_ as they say is clumsy and rather unnecessary. As much as I enjoy polite conversation. You can imagine that there isn't much of it here."

Clara gestured with her chin at the sketches on the walls, trying a different angle. "Did you draw those yourself?"

Missy did not turn to look at them. She simply raised a brow. "Do you think I called in a decorator, Agent Oswald?"

Clara ignored the jab. "That one there, above the table, what is that from?"

Missy shifted her gaze. The ink drawing depicted a city in the desert, futuristic and clean-lined, the shapes and function exact. "I saw that place in a dream once," Missy said. 

Clara looked at the others. Some she recognized, others she didn't, but they shared a common feature of precision and incredible detail. One portrait featured a man, tall and thin, with an owlish, severe face that reflected a wonderful intelligence and intensity. Clara knew who that was. "All this from memory, Dr. Koschei?"

Missy smiled at the mistake but did not correct it. She followed Clara's gaze to the sketch of the man. "Memory is all I have, Agent Oswald."

She turned quickly, and Clara saw that the blank, snake eyes had taken on a peculiar gleam, as if lit from within. "How is Dr. Dodeci? It's been a while since I've heard about him."

"I don't know Dr. Dodeci," Clara said. 

"But you know of him," Missy responded. She'd started to pace around her cage. "They say he ran away. All this evil became too much for that pure, brilliant little head of his. I knew him back when he was simply a professor, before Stewart drug him into law enforcement, kicking and screaming. Dr. Dodeci is a rare man. Not often that your worst enemy is also your best friend."

She paused. "Do you know what the word dodeci means?" she asked Clara, and Clara shook her head. 

"It means twelve in Italian. I asked him once what he was the twelfth of and he couldn't give me an answer. I miss that man. He never should have gotten into this."

Missy sounded almost mournful in spite of the fact that she was the reason he was off where he was. She smiled a little at herself. "And Kate Stewart. Did she ever replace that assistant of hers?"

Clara swallowed and nervously pulled on her lip with her teeth, not sure she should answer. 

"I imagine not," Missy said, answering herself. "Poor Osgood. I overdid her a bit. Charred her, a little. Not my best work."

Beats of silence passed. Clara didn't know what to say. She wasn't sure she could say anything. Missy watched her, as if trying to guess what her reaction would be. Clara reached behind her into her purse and pulled out the questionnaire. "Dr. Koschei, if you wouldn't mind, I'd-"

"No no no no," Missy said, clicking her tongue. "Come now, Agent Oswald. You were doing fine. You were courteous and receptive to my courtesy, you'd _attempted_ small-talk, and then you rushed into this, heavy-handed and clumsy. It won't do."

Clara shoved down a blush, one whose roots were embarrassment. "Dr. Koschei, give me some credit. You think I came here to try and manipulate you into taking this test? Either you'll take it or you won't, nothing I do will influence your decision."

Missy looked delighted. "Oh look at you. The puppy has teeth. Why the insistence, Agent Oswald? I've refused this test before, why did Stewart send you back? A trainee, of all things. She must be chin-deep in the Frankenstein murders, I assume. _He's_ been a naughty one, hasn't he."

"I guess," Clara said.

"No, Agent Oswald. You don't guess, you know. I'd thought Stewart had sent you here to ask me about our Frankenstein."

"No, Doctor."

"And you aren't working up to it?"

"No," Clara said, unsure. Was this why Stewart had sent her here? Why wouldn't she tell her. Dr. Koschei didn't looked convinced either. 

"What do you know about our Frankenstein, Agent Oswald?"

"Not much more than you probably do, Doctor," she said, truthfully.

"How many has he used?"

"We've found six bodies."

Missy nodded. "Always the same, I expect? Missing limbs sometimes, sometimes with extra ones, sometimes implanted with things that should not be implanted. Then discarded, like broken toys. What a delightful _modus operandi_. Very original. That's why they call him Frankenstein, I assume. Not a very inspired nickname but what can you expect from the Daily Mail."

Missy paused and smirked at Clara, her curiosity sated. "Send in the questionnaire."

Clara opened the sliding door and placed it inside. She did not step back when Dr. Koschei opened it from the other side. She flipped through it briefly. She then dropped it back into the carrier and stood there with her hands clasped before her. "Agent Oswald, do you really think that you can dissect me with this crude little tool?"

She was offended now, if she hadn't been before. Clara didn't move to take back the questionnaire. "No," she said, her own voice unconvincing. "I think you can provide some insight and advance this study."

"And why would I do that?" Missy said, almost petulantly. She was standing slightly nearer to the bars now. Clara still hadn't moved back. 

"Curiosity," Clara said, positive that it wasn't the right answer. 

"About what?"

"Why you're here. What happened to bring you here."

Missy smiled then, unlike how she'd smiled before. Clara couldn't pinpoint what was different about this expression but it unnerved her greatly. She smiled like a shark would smile. "Nothing happened to _me_ , Clara Oswald. _I_ happened. You can't reduce me to a set of influences and tell me that either I'm evil or I'm a victim of evil. Tell me, Agent, do you think I'm evil?"

She'd been thrown off by the use of her first name and took longer than she wanted to recover. "I think you've been destructive. For me, its the same thing."

"Destructive? Is a storm evil, then? Is a wildfire? An act of God?"

"I didn't say-"

"Marvelous, the terrible, bloody things that happen for no reason at all other than for the sake of happening. You're all born to die, Agent Oswald, why not revel in the chaos. But would you really call chaos evil? Chaos chooses no sides. Chaos doesn't care."

She spoke of chaos like she was speaking about herself, Clara noted. This was a pointless argument, one that she absolutely could not win. "I can't explain you, Dr. Koschei, but I know who can."

Missy held up her hand. It was a demeaning gesture, one used to silence a child. "You think you can quantify me, Agent Oswald? You're an ambitious one, aren't you. Look at you, with your good scarf and cheap shoes. You have no idea what you're doing, do you. That collar that Stewart's given you is too big for that little neck of yours, pup. But still here you are, a trainee, looking for that big break. Agent Oswald. Look at those big, pretty eyes. I bet those boys in town loved you. All those sticky, half-asleep fumblings, all those big dreams, cause all you could do was dream, because being the smart girl spoiled a lot of things, didn't it? It was all so tedious, so bor-or-oring, wanting more and never getting it, so you did it, dreamed yourself all the way to M-I-Five," Missy almost whispered, dragging out the V with her teeth and lip. Her voice took on a particular harsh accent. "I bet ma and pa are proud of you. Not that they have any idea what you actually do for work. I'm under the impression that you don't either. Doesn't matter as long as you advance though, does it? Ambition is the downfall of many, puppy. Learn to whine before you learn how to bark."

Clara felt like she'd been drained of her blood. She stood there for a time in silence while Missy stared at her, her expression pleasant and quiet. When Clara could finally speak she realized she was holding back tears. "You see a lot, Dr. Koschei. Why don't you turn that high-powered perception at yourself? It's hard to face. I know. Are you scared of what you'll find out? Maybe you're afraid of yourself. Maybe you enjoy being afraid of the dark a little too much."

"You're a tough one, aren't you."

Missy didn't look even slightly thrown off balance by Clara's outburst. Clara realized she was breathing harder than she wanted, but trying to breathe slower made her dizzy. "Reasonably tough. Yes."

"Are you afraid of being common? Would that sting if you were? You're far from it, Clara Oswald. All you have is fear of it. Tell me, what would you have done if not this?"

"I'd be an English teacher."

Missy's voice was gentle. "Of course. Of course you would be. It's almost Valentine's now. Has anyone ever sent you a Valentine? Are you expecting some?"

"You never know."

"No, you never do. I've been thinking about Valentine's. It's a delightful holiday. Maybe I'll send you something to make you happy. I have to think about it." 

Clara swallowed hard. "The study, Dr. Koschei?"

"Missy, dear."

"The study, Missy?"

Missy leaned forward against the bars of her cell, long fingers wrapped around them as she pushed her face closer to Clara's. They were maybe standing a foot apart now. "A surveyor once tried to test me. I roasted his heart and ate it with berries and followed it all with a cup of tea."

Clara didn't move. Missy studied her for a time and finally dismissed her by taking one step away from the bars. "Go back to school, puppy. Keep howling, maybe someone will answer those big dreams."

"Dr. Koschei-"

"Howl, howl, howl."

She then sat back down and picked up her magazine, and then she was as distant as stone. Clara was sweating and chilled by failure. Missy never looked back up at her as she gathered her things and walked away on shaking legs. The feces covered man from before was still hopping from one foot to the other, and he followed her along the front of his cell. She was walking slow and almost didn't notice that he was urinating on her until she was nearly past his cell.

"Oh, god."

He was laughing at her, howling and hooting like an ape, his member still in his hand as she laughed at her. She looked down at her thigh and the urine warming the outside of her pants and splattered on her crummy shoes. She backed away, walking faster, feeling tears pricking hard at her eyes. Then she heard Missy speaking to her, faintly, over the blood buzzing in her ears, the voice higher than it had been before. 

"Agent Oswald."

Clara was already almost to the metal gate. The orderly was in the process of opening it for her. 

"Agent Oswald."

Clara froze. There was something else there. Annoyance, maybe. Whatever it wasn't she hadn't heard it til now. Against her better judgment she turned and walked back to Dr. Koschei's cell, swiping at her tears and giving the man who urinated on her a wide berth. 

Missy's nostrils were flared, her large eyes wide and piercing. She was irritated and looked more like a dragon than a snake now. "I would not have had that happen to you," she said, her voice tightly controlled. Clara could almost see the anger rolling off of her. "That sort of discourtesy is unspeakably ugly to me."

If was as if murder had expunged her of lesser rudeness. Clara felt her face go hot as she continued to notice the warm stickiness against her leg. Clara realized that now was the time to take advantage, while Dr. Koschei was in this state. The questionnaire fluttered in her shaking hand. She held it out weakly. "Please, Missy, do this for me?"

Missy smiled now. Like a violent gust of wind in passing, she was calm again. Clara might have missed her chance. "No," she said, "but I'll give you something better. Something nice."

"What?"

"Advancement, my dear Clara. Advancement. I'll help you find your Frankenstein. Valentine's made me think of it. Told you I'd make you happy for Valentine's."

Missy leaned forward against the bars. Her face was incredibly close to Clara's. She smelled like the iron scent in blood and faintly floral, like dried flowers. "Ten zero eleven, zero zero, zero two," she hissed, flicking her eyes at Clara's and smirking and stepping away. Clara stood there staring at her, reciting the numbers in her head. 10 0 11 0 0 0 2. "What are those, coordinates?"

Missy winked at her. Clara flinched away and felt heat in her stomach. "You'll figure it out, clever girl. Go on now. Happy Valentine's."


End file.
